Between the Lines
by Scuttlebutt Inc
Summary: With sexual tension and fighting spirit in abundance, there's a long journey ahead. Yaoi/Slash, ZoSan.
1. Chapter 1

Well it's nearly two years since we've written One Piece. Guess who's back?

This fic starts back at the beginning. Immediately following Arlong Park there was a definite sense of comraderie between Zoro and Sanji -- chemistry even. What happened there?

This promises to be a very long one, folks. For those of you who may tack us on LJ and are wondering "WHAT ABOUT SOUND SIREN, ASSHOLES?!" -- I promise, we haven't forgotten you or that fic. We still (no, believe me. seriously.) have good intentions for that fic. But after such a long hiatus, we're easing back into writing these two seriously and are following where inspiration leads. We've been dabbling here and there and will probably have a few more things to post soon, as molasses-slow as we may be. :)

We hope you enjoy the new fic and can forgive us if we're a bit rusty!

~JadePrince + DustyJack

Initially, Zoro had some misgivings about Luffy's decision to drag the gangly blond cook on their little adventure. He didn't object necessarily. He'd learned quickly enough in their short bit of time together that there wasn't much use in trying to argue with his new wayward captain. And Luffy had managed to get enough under his skin and earn enough of his affection that he found it would be difficult to deny the boy much anyway. Not that he would let anyone else know that.

The cook seemed like he might be problematic. His instant enamor with the thief woman didn't bode well. If his judgment was worth anything, Zoro was sure that she had no interest in letting a man get anywhere with her -- but had no problem in using her wiles to the fullest extent. It promised to be a long, uncomfortable ride for the cook.

The swordsman had no particular problem with him, though. It might be nice to have someone his own age around -- someone potentially a little more worldly than the two younger members of the crew. And if that person were to be good looking -- considering the rules of the sea -- he couldn't complain. There was a dry thought at the back of his mind that wondered just how many weeks the other young man would survive on the waves with the frustration that the thief would inevitably infect him with. Zoro himself was particularly thankful he wasn't afflicted with similar urges.

After the battle at Arlong Park, his hesitation dissolved. Sanji's skill in the fray and readiness for self-sacrifice had won him over right away. The fight had been a particularly unpleasant one with odds stacked against them from all sides but he felt that he and the cook had worked well together. And Zoro could only be quietly grateful for the cook's concern for his well-being. The skirt-chasing habits were admittedly annoying but when he tasted the first bite of the first decent meal cooked aboard the Going Merry, Zoro found in it forgiveness for the unbecoming quirk.

In general, things appeared to be looking up for their young crew as they set out from Cocoyashi, their new navigator in tow and all five of them together on the fine little sheep-headed ship for the first time. The cook seemed to be as pleased with cooking as the rest of them were to be eating his meals, and Zoro rather suspected the blonde's skill had been wasted on that floating restaurant. Besides, if Luffy's ambitions turned out to be sound, then all of them had bigger futures in store than they'd had before meeting him. And anyway, despite the cook's sharp tongue and heavy feet, the smiles he offered along with his food were genuine. He was as happy as the rest of them.

It was their second night at sea, making their way out of East Blue with a strong headwind that drew them closer to the promise of the GrandLine and adventure. The first night aboard had been the final night of celebration and the real christening of their new ship. Sanji had made a feast that was an excellent impression for what the rest of the voyage would offer and the stores of rum and wine were full from Cocoyashi, leaving all satisfied. With the night breeze licking his skin cool and dry, Zoro finished a brief set at the bow. He toweled off until appropriately clean and ducked in to the galley for a drink before he would sleep until his early morning watch.

In the soft, pleasant glow of the galley, he found their new cook at the sink, working his way through the dishes from dinner. Zoro nodded to him when he glanced, then retrieved a bottle which he polished half of in one go. "Oi," he said, grinning just a little as he leaned an elbow on the counter beside the sink. "Can I help?"

The cook, Sanji, raised that strange curled brow, as though surprised by Zoro's question. It made sense, he supposed; it couldn't be common at a restaurant for the people who ate his food to help clean up afterwards. But they were on a pirate ship now and there were only five of them and none of them were customers (except maybe Nami) so it only made sense to Zoro that everyone be expected to pull their own weight. Except (again) perhaps for Nami.

"Yeah sure," the cook said, breaking Zoro's train of thought. "Wash your hands first, then you can help dry." Then he was moving, making room at the sink for Zoro, handing him a bar of soap.

Zoro did as he was told and rolled his eyes good-naturedly when Sanji requested to see his hands. When the cook was satisfied that his dishes wouldn't be smeared with sweat and grease and he nodded, Zoro held up a palm for the first dish to be handed to him. For a moment or two there was a comfortable silence aside from the swish and drip of water and light clinking of plates.

"Nice apron."

For just a beat Sanji met Zoro's gaze from the corner of his eye. Then he snorted, slapped another plate down in Zoro's waiting hands, and glanced pointedly down at the swordsman's crotch. "Nice wet spot." Parry, thrust.

Zoro blinked for a moment, then glanced down and grumbled. When he had the dish dry, he fumbled in a drawer for a dry towel which he tucked in the front of his pants, sticking out from under his haramaki. It was arguably less dignified than Sanji's pink apron.

But the cook didn't seem to need to rub it in, only allowing himself a quiet chuckle, maybe making a mental tally mark beside his own name. He said nothing further though, only the two syllables of Zoro's name as he passed him a cup.

He was interesting, this one. He made such an effort to be cool and aloof and sometimes actually pulled it off. But now and then, especially when there were women involved, that veneer slipped and there was a goofy teen with too many hormones underneath. And then there was a the deadly monster that appeared in battle. He was nothing if not well rounded. "All healed up?"Zoro wondered as he took another glass. Though Sanji hadn't sustained quite as much external damage, from his retelling of what had happened beneath the water, he had to have some internal aches and pains.

"All right," Sanji acknowledged; there was that attempt at coolness again. "Healthier than you, I suppose," he added, nodded toward the bandages they both knew still swathed Zoro's chest. "It's gonna scar?"

Zoro nodded and shrugged. "It wasn't exactly physical therapy at Arlong Park. But..." He shrugged again, green eyes on the dish in his hand. "It'll be a good reminder."

Sanji nodded as though he understood, but there was no way of telling if he did or not. "World's greatest swordsman, huh?" A beat. "Cool." Then, surprisingly, the cook smiled, his grin split right around the unlit cigarette he'd placed between his lips a moment earlier. "I guess you'd have to be to keep up with our captain, hm?"

Zoro cocked a brow at him but then smirked faintly back. "Luckily he's all thumbs if you hand him a blade."

Sanji chuckled. "I don't mean competition. I mean keeping up with him. I've got a feeling none of us really knows how big an adventure he's leading us into..." The dishes done, Sanji rubbed his hands dry on a towel and pulled the apron over his head. "Don't you think?"

"Mm." Thoughtfully, Zoro did the same, hanging up his own impromptu apron. "I know that wherever that kid goes there's danger. And danger makes you stronger. So it should be pretty good."

"Keep eating my food, it'll make you stronger too," the cook added, maybe just a little boastfully as he crossed behind Zoro to pick up the bottle of liquor he'd half finished. After fetching a couple of glasses, he found a seat at their table, poured two drinks.

"Is that how you got where you are? Your own cooking?" It was half-tease and half-compliment but delivered with a face that gave away nothing. He sat down across the table with an appreciative nod, palming the mug. He wondered how long the peace would last before Luffy burst in or Nami appeared with purred demands or Usopp blew something up.

There was that brow again-- Zoro swore it curled tighter with the cook's moods. "Something like that," Sanji finally answered, seemingly unable to quite decide if it was a compliment or a veiled insult. "That and a father figure who handed out kicks to the head and training lessons instead of hugs." It was clear though, from the cook's fond tone of voice that he didn't resent the old peg-legged man. As Zoro watched, he knocked back the liquid in his cup and poured another. "And you?"

"Single-minded determination. And... a debt to be paid. Of sorts."

Sanji seemed to have enough respect not to ask. He simply nodded as though Zoro's explanation was more than adequate. And perhaps, between two young men, it was. Details weren't as important as honor.

In the long, respectful and comfortable silence that followed, Zoro made sure not to smile. Just another reason to appreciate the cook's membership in their crew. Any of the others would have dogged him for more information, whining for a good story. Nami might have hit him on the back of the head and shouted not to be so cryptic. But, this one... He understood.

Zoro took his time with his drink, having downed nearly three servings before starting the dishes. He'd been drunk for nearly five days, it was time to take a breather.

"You're not green yet," he spoke up at length, glancing again at the cook. "This little boat rocks a lot more than that big anchored restaurant."

Sanji snorted, tongued a bit of liquor from the edge of his cup and met Zoro's eye over the table. "Not just the restaurant," he scoffed. "Spent my whole life on boats, on the sea. My legs haven't yet failed me."

Zoro chuckled vaguely, resting his cheek in a palm, elbow on the smooth edge of the new table. "Bet it helps when they're made of steel."

"Something like that." Sanji's answer was a smirk and a nod, accepting Zoro's compliment without much concern. "As good as swords, anyway."

A single brow was arched without moving a single other muscle. "Not sure I'd go that far."

"Only because you haven't yet had the opportunity to properly experience these weapons of mine." Sanji's raise of brow mirrored his own.

"Is that a challenge?" Zoro grinned faintly, something glinting in his eye. His rough hands suddenly itched for Wadou's hilt and could almost share the excitement with her even from across the room where she was propped against the wall.

"It'd be a shame to challenge you with such a handicap. Only one sword... that's unnatural for you, right?" Sanji took another swallow of the liquor, toe tapping audibly beneath the table.

"One sword against a pair of loafers seems fair enough to me." Zoro shrugged.

"It's not the shoes you should be worried about."

The swordsman glanced out a porthole. "The deck is pretty wide."

"Everyone else gone to bed?"

"Just Usopp up on watch. You tired?"

"Pfft, not at all. Just if we're gonna do this, no point in troubling the others." Sanji stood then, stretching his arms high over his head, twisting from the hips, and lifting each knee to his chest in turn.

Zoro almost said something about Sanji not wanting to embarrass himself in front of Nami. But he held it back. The evening was going so well, no need to spoil it by bringing up women. Instead he stood with a long stretch of his own, fingers threaded and wrists turned out before he retrieved the humming Wadou and held the door for Sanji with a smirk.

Sanji accepted the offer with a smirk of his own but as he passed the swordsman, he had to add, "Don't try to be a gentleman. It doesn't suit you."

He might have been wrong, but the words sounded to Zoro more like a compliment that a barb. With the way Sanji waved dismissively and lit up a cigarette without looking back, however, it was hard to tell.

The sea breeze tugged so lightly, so invitingly at hair and clothes, coaxing them down the steps that led to the deck. The slow click of Sanji's fine shoes was an answer to the tiny, rhythmic creaks of the ship. His cigarette smoke drifted lightly back as Zoro followed him and promised to cling to his hair and clothes for the rest of the night. He found he didn't particularly mind.

He felt Usopp's eyes on them from the crow's nest but surprisingly, the younger boy didn't call anything down to them. Maybe he was given pause with peaked curiosity when Sanji stopped, back still to Zoro who stopped easily as well. Maybe it was that Zoro was tying his bandanna into place. The sails flapped quietly above, perfect and unspoken understanding settling between them. A promise not to hold back but a counter promise to fight with honor. And in the silent words between them, Zoro wondered if it wasn't also a promise for when, soon again, they would be back to back just as they would be soon face to face.

There was no shout for start or signal to square. There was only the simultaneous sense of one another's muscles coiling and releasing in an instant. A hiss of displaced air sang with the delighted shriek of Wadou. The katana clanged quietly when its blunt side met Sanji's heel, catching the wide, arcing kick that would have come down on Zoro's head. He grinned at the cook from his defensive crouch.

"Healing nicely, I see," Sanji hummed, a shift of hips and a quick sucking breath the only warning he gave before pushing back, striking out again, testing Zoro's limits, his range and his speed. At first each kick was meet solidly with the white katana, each slash of the sword deflected and parried with quick footwork. But as they fought, as they began to learn each other's movements, a hit or two slipped through. An inch shaved from Sanji's hair, the chime of Zoro's earrings as a steel-toed boot caught the gold.

It had been some time since Zoro had sparred with a grin on his face -- and not just because he usually had a katana between his teeth. But because it was good and their speed was well-matched as they mapped a strange dance across the deck, a tornado of swinging boots and swiping blade.

In one of the moments that made him so good at what he did, he felt time crawl and saw an opening appear. It was a sacrifice -- Sanji was aiming low and if he surged in, he could get a good clean blow in. He'd take a hit but he stood by his stance on feet versus swords. He'd been nearly sliced in two a week ago, somehow finely-crafted leather just wasn't sending a chill down his spine. So he went for it.

With the surge forward, he caught Sanji's shoulder with the back of his blade -- and he also caught the cook's kick squarely in his wounded gut. It took less than the gasp it produced for him to instantly take back all his skeptical thoughts about the other man's feet. Obviously he'd seen, and had been extremely impressed by the other man in battle. But it wasn't until he was getting a kick in the stomach that he realized hey, that actually does hurt. A whole fucking lot.

But even as Zoro gasped and doubled over, the force of Zoro's blow knocked Sanji back several feet and sent him into a very personal encounter with the mast. The cigarette that had kept it's perch so elegantly on the cook's lips dropped to the deck, as his mouth opened wide in the sudden pain of spine meeting hardwood. He managed, somehow, to keep his feet, but it was a near thing, and most of his weight was held by the mast at his bruised back.

"Sh-it!" Sanji cursed, scrabbled to catch his breath as he squinted across the deck to where the swordsman was nearly on his knees. "Idiot! Why'd you let me hit you? I don't need any favors. Wasn't tryin'-- trying to split you open again anyway. Shit!"

"I saw an opening and took it, asshole!" Zoro snarled back, gripping his stomach with a splayed hand and a locked jaw. He knew full well Sanji had been aiming for his hip and by surging forward, he'd shifted the blow to his wounded gut. "Don't leave yourself wide open like that!" He glared up at the cook from under the shadow of his bandanna.

"Maybe next time I'll aim for your head and end it quicker!" Sanji snapped, mirroring Zoro's glare with one of his own, the most petulant and irritated expression he could muster.

Zoro's teeth gleamed as much as his eyes, bared and piercing through the dark of night. Wadou hummed, almost disappointed as he sheathed her and let his legs give out to sit down heavily on the deck. The glare faded to a sneer. And then a smirk cracked its way through. A gust of air that was something like a chuckle. And then Zoro tossed his head back and laughed full and loud in a way that shook his shoulders.

"What's wrong with you?" were the words immediately out of the cook's mouth but he was already grinning as he said them, and moments later he was trying and mostly failing to stifle his own laughter behind a freshly lit cigarette. "Shit," he snorted, "Did I make you bleed again?" The 'damn, we are stupid' went unspoken, but was certainly understood between them.

"Oiii!" Usopp shouted down at them from above. Apparently his fear to interrupt the tension between the two men dissipated when they started laughing together. "Are you crazy!? Why are you fighting in the middle of the night!?"

"You'll understand someday," Zoro called up at him, grinning as he hauled himself to his feet and turned to Sanji. "It doesn't matter. You or the next guy, it'll always happen. I need another drink."

With a groan that was more dramatics than sincerity, Sanji straightened upright, rubbing idly at the back of one hip and nodded, cocking his head back toward the galley. "Come on then, Musclehead. I'll pour." The cook's steps were only a little bit stiff as he headed across the deck, once more stretching his arms over his head.

Zoro was still chuckling as he caught up with the other, though not too quickly, watching that supine arch that produced a pop or two. He took a moment to marvel over the power that he'd just had the pleasure of experiencing first hand. He'd only been able to admire it in passing during their fight together in Arlong Park and there was something entirely different about actually taking a hit from those powerful legs. He had to appreciate that such a slim, sleek frame could pack such a punch. He could only find himself looking forward to the next time they would tangle -- together or with whatever threat the Mugiwara might face on this voyage.

And still grinning faintly, he fell into step with the cook to join him again in his galley. He liked this. Whatever this was, he liked it.


	2. Chapter 2

The Merry was well under way once more, their goodbyes said to East Blue, to the Marines who had chased them from Logue Town, to the strange sad whale, Laboon, to their old lives. Now they were trusting a tiny quivering needle that didn't point North and toting two new passengers with intentions as mysterious as their mannerisms and a simple request to take them home. Though the girl was, of course, extremely lovely (despite her seeming distrust of their tiny crew), Sanji couldn't help wondering whether it had been a good idea to take them on board. Particularly that loud fellow in the crown. Now that they were on open water again, the rigging set, provisions accounted for, and the ladies busy either navigating or whispering with their suspicious partners, Sanji found a moment with nothing immediately pressing to do.

"Oi, Zoro." The swordsman was lounging at the stern, supposedly to keep a watch at their backs, but Sanji found him with his eyes closed. He frowned. "You awake?"

"Ah?" Zoro growled faintly, opening one eye just a sliver. He cast a glance from the cook, to Nami's mikan which were a safe distance away, Zoro posing no threat. He yawned lazily, stretched and sank back down to the deck. "I'm awake."

With an uninvited thump, Sanji took a seat to the swordsman's left, fishing in his breast pocket for a cigarette. He lit up and took a long drag before speaking again. "Quite a trip, hn? Up and over a mountain, into the belly of a whale, and we're hardly a day into the GrandLine." He caught the other's profile from the corner of his eye, considering. Nearly as much of an enigma as the two strangers below, yet just by looking he seemed so painfully simple and straightforward. They all had their reasons for being here and Sanji wouldn't ask -- hadn't asked, even given the opportunity -- but that didn't mean he didn't wonder. The guy was a good fighter with one sword, a demon with three and could hold his ale like he was storing up for winter. For a whole tavern of pirates. He was clearly concerned with the honor of men, and already steadfastly loyal to their captain. They were all traits that Sanji found admittedly admirable, and yet Zoro seemed to hold no respect for the fairer and most deserving sex, would even go so far as to fight them. Sanji couldn't help but re-evaluate the man, just a little. Good drinking partner or no, he needed to know more about this guy if he was going to continue to further their friendship.

"Ah," said Zoro again, inflection shifting the meaning of the word entirely. He paid Sanji the respect of sitting up, tucking both arms behind his head as he leaned back against the neatly-painted wooden rails. "No exaggeration to the rumors, eh? Regret it yet, cook?" He flashed a feral grin that was something like a playful challenge. 'Too much for you?' it asked silently and good-naturedly.

"I'm not the one trying to sleep through the scary parts," Sanji shot back, grinning around his cigarette. "Don't worry. There haven't been any sea monsters like in the calm belt. Yet."

"Ha-ha," Zoro intoned with a roll of his eyes. "When there's something worth opening my eyes for, I'll open them. And you'll be glad I saved my energy."

"The rest of us seem somehow capable of watching each other's backs and doing a chore or to around here, you know," Sanji chided, but there was no true venom in his voice, just the habit of a hard working cook that had hardly spent an hour of downtime since his life on the Baratie had begun.

Zoro grumbled somewhat incredulously. "I'll work, I'll work. Just gonna sleep a little more first." He yawned, smirk and closed his eyes again. But then just as easily he cracked one open just a tiny it. "You the doting mother now?"

"I'm sure as hell not gonna do your laundry or kiss your boo-boos if that's what you're trying to ask, moron. Just pull your own weight and be nice to the ladies and whatever else you wanna do is your business." A huff of breath and Sanji watched a trail of smoke rings rise and dissipate into the air above him.

The swordsman studied him for a long moment from the corner of that slit green eye, watched the sea breeze make his hair flutter and drag the smoke over it in tiny crests. He then closed his eye and settled in again, ankles crossing where they were stretched far in front of him, poised to soak in nearly as much sun as possible. "Why should I be nice to them?"

It was a matter that hadn't really been brought up between them. It was clear enough to both parties that they weren't exactly on common ground on the subject of women -- and while they were getting along quite well, neither men were particularly shy about voicing their opinions on the subject in passing. Zoro's disgusted utterances when Sanji bowed to Nami's whim or Sanji's berating when he failed to do the same.

Clearly Sanji hadn't been expecting this sort of bluntly impolite question. Though in retrospect, he would never again be surprised by the swordsman's attitude. "Well of course you should because they're godly, blessed creatures--" He lifted both hands into the air as though worshiping some invisible female form. "--possessed of natural beauty and charm and demanding -- no, deserving of all the respect any humble gentlemen should be honored to offer! It's called chivalry, and contrary to the popular piratical opinion, it is not, in fact, dead."

Zoro didn't exactly react in spite of this very admirable show. He didn't even open his eyes, but rather only arched his brows just a little as he listened to the speech. And then after a moment, he said almost thoughtfully and not as venomously as Sanji would have expected, "Huh."

"I don't suppose, however," Sanji continued, only a little put out that Zoro didn't seem to find him even worth a little eye-contact, "that you would understand, given how quickly you seemed ready to lop off that cute marine girl's poor head."

There was a long, thick silence and when Sanji glanced over at him, Zoro was scowling faintly. "I didn't hurt her," he finally said.

Somehow, Sanji had expected more than this and he stumbled a bit over his retort. "W-well. Then-- then why would you even fight her in the first place! Clearly you did something to anger her."

Again Zoro did open his eyes, the subject seeming to earn his attention enough to keep him from dozing off again. "I fought her because she challenged me. And I would never disrespect a woman by giving her any special favor or treating her any different than I would a man."

"Well that's--!" Sanji began, his righteous indignation stirring as the subject of woman became central, but just as suddenly, it died in his chest, turned to confusion and uncertainty. Surely there was something wrong with Zoro's logic, surely! He just... wasn't sure what it was. "W-women should be treated -better- than men! That's not disrespectful! It's... it's only right!" He frowned, cigarette nearly down to a stub. "You're weird."

Zoro snorted faintly but didn't seem particularly perturbed, offering only a roll of eyes. "What makes 'em that way? How about you? Would you like it if I pussyfooted around you and treated you all nice and refused to ever fight with you cause you're pretty and skinny and soft-skinned?" When Sanji's gaze jerked back to him, Zoro was smirking, eyes closed again.

Sanji was momentarily torn between gratitude that Zoro was not waiting to see the look on his face or the heat in his cheeks, and anger that he could throw something like that out there, so callous and casual and then not even -care- that the cook was currently experiencing a sensation not unlike swallowing a mouthful of scalding hot coffee. "I'm-- I'm a MAN, you moron!" There were two more cigarettes between his lips before he'd even finished his protest. "And what do you mean 'soft-skinned'!? I'll have you know my skin is rough! Rough and manly!"

Zoro's jaw clenched and the tendons worked in such a way that made Sanji suspect that Zoro was making a very great effort not to laugh. "Ah? I hadn't noticed. Looks like you've seen maybe a week of sun in your life."

"Just because I don't have the complexion of a toasted carrot doesn't mean I'm sheltered or womanly!" A pause. "Not that there's anything wrong with that. Just that-- Here! Look!" The cook's hand was shoved suddenly and without prologue into Zoro's face. "Just as many callouses as yours, aho. Go on, look!"

When Zoro opened his eyes for the half-dozenth time in the conversation, he started a little to find to cook's palm right in front of his nose and he blinked at it, frowning for a long moment. But eventually he shrugged, sat up a little more and seemed to take the matter rather seriously. The swordsman's hands were surprisingly ginger when he took Sanji's wrist without a word and all but cradled the pale, precious hand in his own. With his fingers light, he ran his touch over Sanji's palm, brow set intensely as he watched his own fingers work. Pads traced out the lines and lingered where he found rough, hard callus -- across the arch. At the base of the knuckles. Along the index finger and on the side of the thumb. Not all that different from some of the patterns worn into the swordsman's own hands.

Sanji's mouth set in a firm thin line while Zoro worked, faintly unnerved when he found the man taking his challenge so seriously, but equally determined not to lose his nerve under such scrutiny. "See?" he finally heard himself ask, irritated by how little of his usual cocky attitude he was able to imbue in the word.

"Hm," Zoro finally said and let Sanji's hand slip out of his grip with a shrug. "Guess you're right."

Sanji frowned a little, taking his hand back and rubbing at the palm where Zoro's fingers had been moments before. "Damn straight, I'm right." He glanced back up at the swordsman, then pointed, reached, poked him in the chest. "I come from a whole ship of fighting cooks and not one of them is soft."

Zoro shrugged nonchalantly. "Or at least not as soft as you."

It took an embarrassingly large amount of self control not to use his hands for some violent purpose in that moment. Instead, Sanji settled for breaking the brief silence with shrieking obscenities as he scrambled back to his feet, aiming as many kicks for the swordsman's vital regions as possible. Zoro laughed that laugh that was always a little bit harsh even in mirth as he blocked several enraged kicks and also grunted as he took one or two, paying the price for a good laugh. The scuffle would have probably deteriorated into a good old-fashioned wrestling match between two friends if it weren't for the inevitable danger that met their ears. In the short time that the two young men had thus spent aboard the ship, they had very quickly learned what to keep an ear out for.

"Ara? Sounds interesting!" was a shout from the other side of the ship followed shortly by a loud sound like a rubber band snapping. "Zoro! Sanji!"

It wasn't exactly a surprise when their captain came catapulting over the mikan, barely brushing the tops of the trees. But the two older boys barely managed to get out a horrified, "Luffy!" before Zoro suffered the consequences of their fearless leader's fearless actions. He took Luffy's landing solidly to his head and shoulders with such impact that they both kept going -- right through the railing which splintered and also went flying at the point of impact.

"DAMN YOU!" Zoro snarled just before they hit the water.

Sanji spared just enough time to check that his captain wasn't drowning --between Zoro and the bit of railing that had followed them in, Luffy had plenty to grab a hold of. Then he smirked, lit a fresh cigarette --just one this time-- and waved down at the two heads bobbing above the water. "Oi! Starting to get a bit cold out here, don't you think? Not really time for a swim. Better come back up now!"

"KONOYARO!" Zoro snarled up the side of the ship, though the exclamation ended in a loud gurgle as Luffy shoved his head under the water in his scramble to stay afloat in spite of draining energy. "I'm not done with you!"

"Shall I throw you a rope?" Sanji called, cheerfully, one hand cupped around the side of his mouth.

"Sanjiiii~" their captain called pitifully, his arms around Zoro's neck with his weight heavily on the swordsman's back. He neveer seemed to fail to completely forget what just a terrible experience it was for him to fall into the drink.

Zoro glanced over his shoulder and sighed the pained sigh of an overworked parent. "Throw it down."

The cook grinned, shook his head a little, but didn't rub it in any further when he tossed the rope ladder over the side with a thump and a splash.

"Come on up. I'll go warm some cider."

"Woohoo!" crowed their captain, wringing out part of his shirt as he jumped down the stairs. "Sandwiches too? And a turkey?"

Zoro snickered and tossed a soaking wet arm around the cook's shoulders.


	3. Chapter 3

When they set back out to sea with a whole new intent and bearing, with a princess and duck on board as temporary crew, Zoro was annoyed. The whole experience at Whiskey Peak had been an annoying one, what with the lost drinking match to the redheaded she-devil, the spat with the obnoxious exploding guy and laughing girl, and Luffy's idiotic fight with him in the middle of the night.

The first night back on board, as everyone settled into their evening routines, Zoro decided that it was wholly fair that he get completely and utterly drunk as a certain reward for the previous evening . With an almost single-minded sense of purpose, he sat himself at the galley table with a bottle and no matching glass.

It might have been the perfect evening had he been able to keep the galley to himself, but all too soon there were footsteps, the door swinging open, and then there was the cook, kicking the door closed behind him and sauntering into the room as though he owned the place. Which he didn't. The Merry was Kaya's gift to Luffy and Usopp, after all; Sanji hadn't even been around then.

"No glass?" His voice was chiding, motherly in that annoying way that made one almost glad to be an orphan. "Didn't I say no drinking from the bottles? Tsk."

Zoro growled faintly, reminded of another thing that had irritated him the night before. This guy. He'd spent that whole night with women all over him, cooing, giggling and syrupy sweet. He'd been so absorbed in his big-titty welcoming committee that he'd failed to  
recognize the danger of Whiskey Peak – something that Zoro knew for certain he was smart enough to identify -- and then slept through the entire thing.

There were a lot of things that irritated him about this guy lately. His yodeling, sighing, fawning behavior over the women. His cocky demands for Zoro to carry this thing or that thing into the galley or to help him with the dishes. And most of all that they were definitely not far enough into their voyage to excuse completely inexcusable behavior, therefore forcing Zoro to keep his hands to himself.

"Don't need a glass if I'm finishing the bottle," he groused, letting his thoughts swirl down his throat with another long swallow of cheap, burning liquor. Sanji didn't need to know that it was the second bottle he was working through.

"And what if someone comes in and wants to share a drink?" the cook countered, pulling a glass down from the cupboard and holding it up as though this explained his point perfectly.

Zoro contemplated him for a moment, gave something halfway between sneer and smirk, and then thunked the bottle down loudly on the table an arm's length away. "Then that someone can man up and drink from the damn bottle."

For a moment, Zoro half expected that glass to come sailing through the air, aimed for his head. Instead, Sanji mirrored his expression and tossed his hair in a decidedly unmanly way before moving to take the seat across from him. "Alright. Fine. That's how you're going to play it? Fine, hand it over."

There was something positively victorious in Zoro's smirk as the heavy bottle scraped across the surface of the table. He couldn't put his finger on it, but there was just something delightful about pushing this guy's buttons and seeing the indignation pass over his features. Just as satisfying was seeing him cave to the call of manliness and forcing him to drop the charade of 'chivalry' that he wore like a cloak for the women. Hearing his voice fall from lofty warbling to grinding, snarling, clenched teeth was like watching an enemy fall under his blade. In a far more attractive manner. He watched Sanji with a grin, scrutiny indicating his skepticism that the cook could bring himself to actually drink from the bottle.

With a snarl, the cook snatched up the alcohol. "You don't have any weird diseases I should know about, do you?" he asked, clearly trying to inject his voice with more snarky insult than fastidious paranoia.

Zoro propped one cheek in a rough palm. "Why would I tell you when it's so much more fun to let you find out?" When Sanji looked at him again, it was difficult not to laugh outright at his expression. "No. No diseases."

"Hmph." Sanji didn't seem impressed with Zoro's sense of humor, but at the least he must have decided that the swordsman was more or less a man of his word because he voiced no other protests before tipping the bottle to his lips. Half the remaining liquor was gone by the time he slammed the bottle back to the table. "Satisfied?" he smirked, "I can drink my alcohol without a glass, rude as it is."

"Well done," Zoro patronized in return. This was what they needed more of, more sneering, cocky Sanji -- the Sanji that he'd seen shatter bones under his heels and toss smug insults in the heat of battle – less pastry-making, cloying subservience. Zoro's senses were just barely starting to feel the faint fuzz brought on by alcohol, but he blamed it nonetheless when the thought crossed his mind that he wanted to try at fighting again like that night after leaving Arlong Park when they'd made fools of themselves and laughed it off together. "Not too rough on your delicate chef's palate?"

Sanji snorted. "Please. You think they'd ever let me drink the good stuff at the Baratie? It took me two years to save up enough for a decent vintage. Day to day, all the cooks drank the same shit." He nodded towards the bottle still in his hand and, after a second of thought, knocked back another swallow.

Zoro couldn't help but grin again at the coarse language that tumbled from Sanji's lips -- such a polar opposite of the flowery words that he used when he was around the girls. There was a certain part of him that found itself pleased that Sanji saved his rudest, roughest language for the moments they spent together; it was like some ugly, sour gift. He took the bottle from Sanji's hand without asking. "That why you smoke?"

A short bark of laughter slipped from Sanji's lips. "Among other reasons." He paused thoughtfully, pulling a cigarette out of his pocket to turn idly between his fingers. He didn't light it, though, instead tucking it behind an ear as he rose to fetch another bottle. He bit the cork free and took a deep swallow before finding his seat again. "That, and when I was a kid, I thought it'd make me look older."

"Mm," Zoro considered this more thoughtfully than Sanji might have given him credit for. He swirled the remainder of the grog in his hand, creating a tiny, shallow tornado before downing it. He supposed it made sense, since it was clear that Sanji'd been the youngest member of the Baratie. "Good not to be the baby anymore?" He was only half teasing and therefore only gave half a smirk.

Sanji rolled his eyes, but clearly didn't take offense as his feet stayed where they were. "Honestly? It's sort of weird. To be around other people my age. Who aren't customers." A lick of lips and another drink. "You? Weird to be all settled down to one ship? Taking orders from a captain and everything?"

"Who's taking orders?" Zoro replied with an arch of brow. But then he shrugged, took the new bottle from Sanji and delivered it back to his hand after a drink of his own. He could taste the slightest hint of bitter tobacco on the lip of the new bottle. That guy must taste like an ashtray. "Part of a swordsman's discipline is knowing his place. I took plenty of orders at the dojo."

"Ah." The cook nodded, whether in understanding or simple politeness was hard to tell. He sighed faintly, then took another drink and passed it back to Zoro.

When the quiet between them threatened to become awkward, the cook spoke up once more. "Have you ever tried smoking?"

"Ah?" Zoro frowned a bit, the bottle poised at his lips. A sardonic little voice told him that tasting the cook's mouth would probably be like smoking a few packs at once. He took his swallow before answering. "Once, but not tobacco. My sensei had a pipe. I got it in my head that it had something to do with his skills. But it tasted like shit so I never touched it again."

Sanji laughed a little at this, but waved apologetically before Zoro could bristle. "Everyone thinks that the first time. You get used to it. Terrible for you, they say, but then again, what kind of sailor lives long enough to die from smoking? I sure as hell don't plan on it."

Zoro chuckled faintly. "One or two vices is enough for me. At least I can work off a hangover. And I wouldn't want to steal your thing."

Sanji shrugged. "Suit yourself. The ladies like it, though."

Zoro missed a beat because his first thought was 'I like it too,' but he didn't care for how that reflected on him. What he liked was the acrid smell that clung to his clothes when he shared proximity with the cook while he smoked, the way he might casually lick his thumb after lighting up, and the way his mouth worked to blow smoke rings. "The ladies like that you taste like cigarette butts?" For all of his mind's wandering, he found it to be a perfectly delivered, dead-pan jab.

But Sanji didn't take his bait this time, didn't fall into the obvious argument. Instead, he only shrugged, took a sip, and passed the bottle back to Zoro. "I haven't had any complaints yet."

That bothered him. Probably more than it should have, and again he blamed it on the drink and the tiny hint of flavor lingering at the lip of the nearly-drained bottle they shared. He was supposed to get pissed off and worked up, bristle so that Zoro could smirk and watch him seethe. That confidence made him want to grab the cook and crush their mouths together brutally, then spit and lodge his first complaint. Zoro finished the bottle. "You're pretty confident for a guy who had a whole lot of women and no action last night."

This time, Sanji did frown. Apparently Zoro had hit a soft spot. "It might surprise you to know that, as a gentleman, I had no intention of taking advantage of any of those ladies. I was simply enjoying their company." A beat. "How did it feel to have Nami-san drink you under the table?"

Zoro's eyes narrowed. He was pretty sure she had cheated. There's no way she could actually drink that much, but really what was important was not to make this about him. "Felt better than your blue balls, I'm sure," was what he shot back and rose to get a fresh bottle.

He could almost feel Sanji seethe behind him, could hear the scrape of table legs as the cook struggled to keep control of himself.

"Not every man is as single-minded as you," Sanji grated out. "If you're so goddamn interested, then listen good, asshole. I love women. I don't think so much of myself that I would lower such angels to the dirt of the earth with a man's touch."

Zoro paused with his hand on the neck of a bottle, letting Sanji's words roll over his back and shoulders. Immersed as he was in all things delicate and beautiful and female, he wouldn't dare to lay his paws on one? Suddenly a whole new door seemed to open and all the thoughts of appropriate lengths of time at sea, which offered the most solid of excuses, seemed moot and useless.

Finally, the bottle slid free of its cradle on the rack and Zoro silently returned to the table. He didn't round it, though, and return to his original spot. Instead, he walked right up to Sanji, unhesitating at the sight of his stiff, defensive stance. He got close. Uncomfortably close. Close enough that the cook had to ease back slightly to avoid the touching of their bodies as Zoro thunked the heavy bottle on the table behind him.

"What a miserable existence you must have," the swordsman finally said, hooded green eyes sharp as the blades he wielded when they pierced Sanji's gaze.

It was difficult to read the emotions flickering behind Sanji's visible eye, but there was irritation, certainly, defensive anger and frustration and almost definitely an overwhelming urge to defend himself against Zoro's accusation. To his credit, he didn't flinch or push away. He didn't even kick Zoro in the head, both a relief and a disappointment. "Not so bad as you might think," he finally rasped. Then he glanced down, breaking their eye contact, and fished for the cigarette he'd tucked behind his ear.

Just before the cigarette reached his lips, Zoro plucked it from his fingers, flicked it away, and with a hand fisted in the front of the cook's shirt, put his own mouth firmly in destination.

It didn't surprise him at all that the cook's initial reaction was instant tension, the stiffening of every limb, and a faint throaty sound muffled by smothered lips. He could feel Sanji's hands close in turn on the worn cotton of his own shirt, and he wouldn't have been shocked to be pushed away or to find a heavy heel where his mouth had been.

Instead, for just a beat, the cook was inarguably kissing him back, and there were teeth, definitely teeth, first grazing, then biting his lower lip, and that weird little whine had become a growl.

A moment later, Sanji broke away, sneering, his eye dark, his hands not yet leaving off their grip. "Awfully sure of yourself, aren't you, asshole?"

Zoro just showed his teeth in a demon's imitation of a grin. It was all electricity and tension between them. Neither gave up their grip on the other's clothes, threat sparking in the tightening of knuckles that only reeled them that tiny bit closer.

"You don't seem to mind," was all Zoro said in response and they hung there on the razor's edge that would separate fucking from fighting. He'd laid down his challenge, now Sanji would accept or reject with a bite of mouth or a broken jaw. He couldn't help but think that either would be equally satisfying.

Sanji's grip on his shirt tightened noticeably, and the threat of a deadly kick bumped the side of Zoro's foot. When Sanji spoke, he could feel the heat of his breath, taste the lingering smoke. "Can you keep your mouth shut?" he growled, eyes flicking from the line of Zoro's throat up to the shadowed green of his eyes.

That blade-gleam grin just flickered, balance shifting in the air about to snap between them. "Sinks ships and all that shit," he agreed in a low growl that vibrated across Sanji's mouth.

"I fuckin' mean it, Zoro." Sanji's lips were grazing his now, teeth scraping again, breath gusting. "I will murder you, shitty swordsman. Absolutely..." His words faded, smothered by action, by the hunger that surged between them and they almost stumbled when the cook's body pressed forward, sudden and as demanding as his mouth.

And then all bets were off. Zoro twisted Sanji's tie around his free hand in a deft movement that yanked their mouths together hard, creating instantly a struggle for who could kiss harder. Sure enough, that mouth tasted like a handful of cigarettes and Zoro bit at it with a growl before his tongue drove in. He delighted in all the harshness of him: nicotine and cheap alcohol and addiction. Sanji was all points and angles -- bony hips and scruffy chin and unquestionably masculine to the flavor and touch in spite of that slight frame and perfectly kept hair. The bench at Sanji's knees scratched and then clattered over when Zoro pressed more roughly into him.

The cook snarled back at him, shoving roughly, but followed through, moving the away from the table to thump into the nearest wall. Sanji's body was pressed flush to his, the contact hot and almost overwhelming after the physical distance they'd kept thus far aside from sparring. Zoro heard something fall to the floor with a clatter, but if it was important, Sanji clearly didn't care, not with the way he focused so single mindedly on sucking Zoro's tongue into his own mouth.

Zoro hadn't initially cared to acknowledge the tension that had been building in the weeks since the cook's arrival. It wasn't often that anything crossed his path that he deemed worthy of a second glance and to have something like that at finger's length every day was a unique experience. He'd never considered himself a particularly sexual creature in nature; only admitted to himself that he was nineteen and male, so there would naturally be things to be taken care of now and then. But this... this was different. This was white-hot and snarling up through his belly and chest, the same boil that appeared when he tied off his bandanna and took Wadou between his teeth. This wasn't the heat of sex, this was the heat of combat. It took that solid thump of Zoro's back to the wall for him to recognize it and for arousal to surge through him, mixing molten the two sensations until they were one inseparable thing. Burning and angry and ravenous.

A heavy hand grabbed at the back of Sanji's shirt, pressing them only harder together. He relished Sanji's gall, his fearlessness in pressing the swordsman's thicker frame to the wall so much that he allowed it. He raked rough fingers through straw-colored hair and pulled when the cook's teeth threatened to sample his blood, growling into the other's mouth. And with that growl was his turn to up the ante: he grabbed for the fine leather of Sanji's belt at his hip and dragged them together at the waist, his own hips arching from the wall in a way that could only be described as obscene.

The cook didn't seem to be expecting that from the gasp that hissed through his teeth when Zoro's hips ground demandingly against his. But Sanji was, if nothing else, quick on the uptake and determined not to be outdone or, more likely, mocked for pussying out. So he grit his teeth and ground right back, never mind that his chin was tilted downward to hide the red in his cheeks. Zoro was polite enough --or distracted enough-- not to point it out. "Bastard," he swore, for no reason the swordsman could see except that, perhaps, the sound of his own voice speaking vulgarities brought the cook comfort somehow.

If anything, though, the expletive only seemed to spur Zoro on and he yanked at Sanji's tie. With thighs and hips pressed tight together, haramaki riding up, and two heats swelling together in a race for hardness, Zoro needed something to bite in to. Something that wouldn't show when he bruised it. He didn't give a shit when he popped two buttons from Sanji's shirt in the hurry to sink his teeth in to the lithe of one pale shoulder. The twinge of muscle under his jaws sent a thrill through him and Zoro bucked from the wall, his grip on Sanji's belt yanking them almost uncomfortably hard against one another.

"A-ah! Shit! Fucker!" Then Sanji's hands were at his shoulders, nails scraping, digging hard into the back of his neck, and Zoro wondered if this counted as fighting with his hands since the cook usually seemed to make such a point of avoiding it. Suddenly, there was a knee between them and with a snap of leg, the back of Zoro's head hit the wall again, his hold on the cook's shoulder broken. He didn't have even a moment to protest because Sanji was on him again, with a thigh and a threat between his legs, and the cook was definitely hard now. This time, when that smoky mouth hit his, he did taste blood and it didn't even matter whose it was.

The swordsman grinned into him and Zoro could scarcely think of anything that could have tasted better than copper and the bitter taste of Sanji's mouth. He was starting to pant faintly, not from exertion, but from the thrill of it. He wanted to defeat this savage, kicking beast -- to see him snarl, gasp, and beg, undone by Zoro's hands and mouth. Wanted him to come with bruises and bite marks tattooed into pale skin. He wanted to make it good enough that Sanji'd think about it every time they crossed paths, every time he saw Zoro lifting weights at the bow, and get hard every time he thought about it.

A hand fumbled for the front of the cook's fine slacks and rubbed there, his calloused fingers rasping on the thread count as he roughly felt out the shape of arousal, and yanked at Sanji's belt. And then there was the bone-chilling creak.

"Sanji? Zoro?"

Zoro abruptly hit the wall for the third time, but when he blinked, Sanji's hips were angled away from the door and a black shod foot was at his throat. As Sanji fumbled with the loosened tie, the look that burned in the cook's eye showed many things, but foremost was a warning, a half-panicked demand to follow along.

When their captain wandered in, he found them like that, frozen, pulses racing.

"What is it, Luffy? I'm kind of busy kicking this shitty swordsman's ass."

Zoro grabbed at Sanji's ankle, not about to appear to be at a disadvantage in their 'fight'. The rage that burned in his own eyes was nothing less than genuine for a great many reasons. Idiots. They were idiots -- it was a stupid, dangerous, brash thing to do, and there was no amount of alcohol that could be blamed for doing something so foolish. But fuck all, the timing their captain had.

Said captain frowned from the doorway, his chin propped in one hand with lips pursed thoughtfully. "Why are you fighting? Did Zoro steal food?"

For a brief moment, Sanji's eyes flickered to Zoro's, but he didn't give the swordsman a chance to deny the accusation. "Caught him on his second bottle of rum," the cook confirmed. "Determined to drink us dry before we get to Little Garden."

"Oooooh," Luffy said with a measure of understanding but also with sympathy. Beatings of the captain had become a regular occurrence since Sanji had boarded and put an end to his nightly draining of food stores. Much to both older boys' silent horror, Luffy let the galley door shut behind him and wandered in to sit on the other side of the table. "You shouldn't fight too much. It'd be dumb if you were hurt by your own nakama."

He laughed merrily and Zoro felt a tic develop in his brow. Apparently the rubber boy had completely forgotten about his brutal attack on the swordsman the night before that had destroyed half the port town at Whiskey Peak.

"You're right, Luffy, you would have to be pretty dumb to let yourself get beat up by this guy." Sanji gave a snort and shifted away, lowering his leg and moving to lean uncomfortable against the counter. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it quickly, not quite muffling the sigh that followed the plume of smoke from his lips.

Almost stunned, Zoro slid down the wall and let himself come to rest. He tugged his haramaki down and resisted the urge to swear extremely loudly.

"Can I have a sandwich, Sanji?" Luffy asked cheerfully, clearly oblivious to Zoro's internal rage and the tension and nerves still thick in the air.

There was a brief moment, a twitch of that curled brow so harsh that Zoro almost expected the cook to kick their captain out, but then Sanji sighed, took another drag and shrugged as though he were helpless. "Yeah, fine. Ham and cheese okay?"

"Oooh, tasty!" Luffy exulted happily, rocking side to side on the bench.

Zoro's head thunked back against the wall.

As he sat there, Sanji began to gather ingredients and, for a minute or two, the room was more or less quiet except for the happy squirming of their captain. "Sandwich, sandwich, sandwich, sandwich..."

It took a beat for the swordsman to feel Sanji's eyes on him, but when he looked up, sure enough, the cook was looking over his shoulder, a knife in one hand and a loaf of bread in the other. "Oi, Zoro. Want one?"

There was a long moment of uncertainty between them, Zoro finding the cook strangely difficult to read. He'd been ready to either force himself into a stupor and fall asleep or to stalk out and find a quiet place to finish alone what they'd started together. He could only see good nature in the offer, unless, of course, Sanji planned to poison his sandwich to put his fresh new secret in the grave.

"Ah," Zoro said finally and closed his eyes, arms folded over his chest. "Sure."

If Luffy was confused as to why his cook would reward the theft of alcohol with sandwiches, he made no mention of it, and in truth, was probably too preoccupied with the preparation of his own snack to worry about why others might be getting a share too.

It wasn't long before a plate of sandwiches sat before the captain and another was held out for Zoro. When the counter was clean again, Zoro watched Sanji light another cigarette and right the toppled bench to find a seat there once more.

Well, at least the sandwiches weren't poisoned, so at least one thing wasn't a complete disaster.


	4. Chapter 4

By the time the sun began to warm the deck, the Going Merry and crew were nearing Little Garden-- their next stop according to the log pose. Despite some success the day before at lifting Vivi's spirits with laughter and fruity drinks and the distraction from a pod of giant dolphins, still Nami had spent a long night trying to convince the princess to get some sleep. She stayed close in the privacy of their bedroom while the girl mourned the loss of her two companions.

Sanji, too, stayed awake, even after captain and swordsman had finished their late night snack and turned in for a few hours of shut eye before breakfast. He had a meal to prepare and a lot to think about as the alcohol wore off and the headache of a hangover and regret settled in.

The rest of the crew was still on deck, taking care of routine morning tasks -- checking the rigging, securing the anchor and the like -- when the women joined him, still in bedclothes with robes wrapped tight about their slight frames. They both looked near as bedraggled as Sanji felt, though no less lovely for it. For a moment, his own worries lifted, a fond warmth filling his chest as the girls settled at the galley table, shoulder to shoulder as though they'd already known each other for much longer than a day or two.

"Good morning, my doves," the cook hummed. He took comfort from the familiar routine and the tired smiles they offered him. "May I offer you tea? Coffee?"

"Coffee would be perfect, Sanji-kun, thank you," Nami replied while Vivi stifled a yawn.

"Mmm -- yes, please," the princess agreed. "Oh, Sanji-san, do remind me when we get to Alabasta, I must send you off with some of our native coffee. It's the very best."

The cook, after one admittedly sleepy twirl back to the counter, began pulling down cups for the girls and, after another moment's consideration, the rest of the crew, who would likely be looking for the warmth of a morning mug soon as well. "I'd be honored and delighted to sample a taste of your country's native drinks, Vivi-chan!" He turned up the flame beneath the kettle, before casting a glance over his shoulder at the blue-haired girl. And the wall behind her. The wall where just a few hours ago -- no. No, he wouldn't think about that now. Not in the company of such lovely creatures.

Nami smiled fondly upon the younger girl, a gentle expression which, considering her disposition thus far with the otherwise entirely-male crew, seemed almost out of place. "Vivi-chan and I were up late talking about Alabasta," she told Sanji while the princess blushed faintly. "It sounds incredible! Like a beach that goes on forever! I'm looking forward to seeing it."

"Not everyone finds the desert to their taste," Vivi admitted. "But it's my home and... and well, before the trouble started, it was really a very wonderful place to live!"

"It will be again," Nami hummed, rubbing the girl's shoulder comfortingly. "We'll get you there."

"Of course we will," Sanji chimed in. "So don't you worry about a thing. Just relax and enjoy the travel, hm?"

In truth, he thought, he could get used to this, small ship though it was. With the company of such lovely women, one could almost forget... but there it was again; it wouldn't leave him alone. The memory of the swordsman's words, his needling about the way Sanji treated the fairer sex, and then-- his touch, his mouth... The cook flushed and turned back to the stove quickly. It'd been so close... a moment of hesitation and they'd have been discovered. And if Luffy knew, no doubt there would be no keeping a secret like that on the Merry. If Nami-san were to find out... if sweet, innocent Vivi were to know -- he couldn't begin to fathom the humiliation.

If the girls noticed his self-inflicted discomfort, they gave no indication of it, Nami peeling a mikan for them to share while they waited for the coffee to brew. "Did you hear something strange last night, Sanji-kun?"

Sanji quite nearly fumbled the coffee cup he was holding, made a choked sound in the back of his throat as he caught it and then set it shakily back on the counter. "Strange noise?" he managed to echo. "I don't... seem to recall anything..." Inwardly, he cursed himself for ever thinking it would be a good idea (drunk or not) to engage in... any sort of relations with the swordsman -- or any other member of the crew for that matter. The ship was too small and the risks too great and if Nami already knew or even suspected... The early morning nausea of an empty stomach intensified and Sanji had to take a deep gulping breath to calm himself.

When the kettle went off with a piercing whistle a heartbeat later, the cook nearly fled from his own skin before leaping to turn down the flame.

He was certain she was only waiting for confirmation, conclusive evidence of what had happened last night, what Luffy had interrupted. And when she had it, she would be so ashamed of him. Surely disgusted by such a display (now matter how private) of carnal pleasure, of base instinct and utterly ungentlemanly behavior...

"Usopp said Luffy fell out of the crow's nest on his watch," Nami continued with a roll of her eyes. "I'm half-afraid to leave him alone at night! What if he were to bounce overboard?"

The heart that had been trying valiantly to claw its way out of Sanji's throat dropped suddenly back into place and he was able to begin breathing once more. He even managed to pour the kettle with a mostly steady hand. "I suppose," he offered, cleared his throat and started again. "I suppose we could give him the first watch of the evening. When there's others still awake. I -- tend to stay up a bit to prepare things for the next day's meals. If he did bounce in, I could always fish him out."

The navigator, who had thus far acted considerably more captainly than their captain, nodded thoughtfully. "It might not be a bad idea. It'd keep him out of your hair while you and Zoro are trying to get the dishes done, too. I'll see if Usopp wouldn't mind switching."

"Not -- not that I mind him around," Sanji hastened to add, his heart already thundering again with her words. She could still know. Might still suspect. Why else would she suggest that he needed time alone with Zoro? "And anyway! It's Usopp's turn to help with the clean up tonight, so that -- that works out well. Nami-san is so clever!"

"It certainly does take a lot of work to keep a ship going, doesn't it?" Vivi piped up, seeming impressed. "Especially with such a small crew."

"Tell me about it!" Nami rolled her eyes. "I swear each of us is doing the work of five people! Oh but don't you worry about that. We manage just fine. You just relax and let us take care of everything, hm?"

"No!" Both pirates were startled by the thump of hands down on the table and the sudden forcefulness of the princess's voice. But just as quickly, she blushed and stammered, "I-I mean, well -- if you're providing transport to me, I would like to help you in any way I can! So -- please, if there's anything I can do..."

"Vivi-chan," Sanji interrupted, gently, his voice smooth as silk as he willed his heart rate to slow. He drew comfort from her pink cheeks and determined expression. He set down the two cups of coffee, a bowl of sugar, and a small pitcher of cream at the table before joining them, sliding onto the bench across from the girls. This was right. This was good and comfortable and could make him forget troublesome things if he wanted it to. "You can do the most for this crew by sharing your smiles with us, your company, your good cheer."

Nami gave her an encouraging grin to back up the cook's words and Vivi blushed pink, stirring her coffee sheepishly. There really wasn't a more perfect moment to be had for Sanji, with two delicate flowers sweet and satisfied and grateful. The kitchen was rife with the aromas of fresh coffee and cooking breakfast and morning sea air.

And then came the sound -- the rumble that rattled the floorboards and in fact the very ship itself with no doubt left as to what it was. They braced for impact and the galley door slammed violently open with Luffy's war shriek of, "FOOOOOOD!" as he and Usopp clambered over each other in their efforts to burst through the door.

"HOLD IT!" Sanji stood abruptly, hands slamming down on the table not unlike the motion Vivi had made moments earlier.

The boys screeched to a halt, tumbling over each other in a tangled pile of limbs.

"You know the drill! You'll wait until Nami-san and Vivi-chan are served before you get yours! So sit down and wait!"

Though they pouted, they did indeed know the drill and there was only the most routine of whining as they sat down. It did offer the table some semblance of table manners, brought on through Sanji's forceful manners courses, when the boys were made to sit down and pour themselves drinks while squirming in their seats as Sanji served the girls. The table erupted into a flurry of activity the moment Sanji gave the okay to dig in to the heaping platters of food that were set in the center of the table.

It was in the middle of this flurry that Zoro made his late appearance with a bleary yawn and a glance for the cook amid his many tasks when the table was full.

Unfortunately, the instant Zoro's eyes met his, Sanji's soaring blood pressure reminded the cook of its cause. His face heated and he looked away quick enough to make him just a little light-headed. This just wouldn't do. Nami was bound to notice even if the rest of them were either too stupid (the boys) or too innocent (Vivi-chan). He was more and more certain that his heart couldn't take the stress of that 'maybe'.

Looking for something to occupy himself, to explain the prolonged avoidance of the rest of the room, his hand found and closed on the handle of the kettle. Someone was sure to need a refill.

Despite the lack of eye contact, the reproachfulness was palpable from Zoro even in the noisy bustle of breakfast. He sat down silently and filled his plate but Sanji felt the swordsman's critical eyes on him with each glance that was cast, unmet, his way.

"Ah, Sanji-kun, would you mind...?"

"Ah! Of course, Nami-swan!" Sanji started and danced over to the red-haired girl, leaning gratefully over her shoulder to fill her coffee cup. As the last drops of liquid poured from the pot, Zoro finally spoke his first words of the morning.

"Oi, cook -- there any more of that?"

A thousand things went through Sanji's head in that moment, a hundred things he could have said and for a moment he paused, his mouth open in what have must been a ridiculous expression. The most unsettling part of the whole situation was that he felt guilty before he even spoke. His throat closed a little and he swallowed a dry breath. There wasn't anything else he could do. Anything else and Nami might find out, might look at him differently, might -- he didn't know, didn't want to predict what might happen. He just knew that it wasn't worth the risk, that things would become awkward, that dynamics would change and Vivi-chan was right, the ship was very small. Too small for secrets.

He set the empty kettle down, a safe arm's length away from the swordsman. Zoro was a man. There was no reason for guilt here. Neither of them wanted to make an already crazy journey even more complicated, right?

"Grounds are on the counter. Help yourself." He didn't look at Zoro. He didn't need to. He'd schooled his voice into something civil but neutral, neither friendly nor combative.

He felt Zoro's eyes on him for a moment longer, the rest of the crew apparently oblivious to what felt to Sanji to be a searing intensity in his gaze. He'd half expected Zoro to lash out at him, perhaps to snap something that might give them away more than his own thundering heart threatened to do. But after a moment, he simply stood up and picked up the pot without a word. When he sat back down with a hot cup of coffee, he didn't bother trying to catch Sanji's eye for the rest of the meal.

It was turning out to be one of the most irritating days that Zoro had ever experienced and it seemed like it'd stretched on for ages.

Nothing had happened. Well, almost nothing. Something would have happened if it weren't for their cheerful captain and their own stupid behavior and poor choices that had led to getting caught. Zoro wasn't one prone to any sense of regret but he was still kicking himself for their stupidity.

That morning, things had been laid out pretty clearly. Sanji's refusal of eye contact at breakfast, his aloofness. He didn't even demand that Zoro help with the dishes. And then mid-day found them weighing anchor at Little Garden.

Hoping to salvage some of the good nature that had existed between them, Zoro had made the same sort of sniping comments that they'd always shared in good humor. But today what would have triggered some playful banter, maybe a light argument or some good-natured wrestling instead seemed to light some impossibly short fuse on the cook and before he knew what the fight was even about, they were snarling challenges at each other.

And now this. Now he was wandering aimlessly through the jungle, ear open for the crunch of the footsteps of some monstrous beast whose skull he could shatter and drag back for their little whose-dick-is-bigger contest. He was determined to win, but it wasn't so much about proving anything. He didn't need to show off his manliness by slinging meat around -- no, it wasn't that he needed to win but that there was no way he was going to let _Sanji_ win. Not when the cook's attitude had taken such a sudden shitty turn, letting the sexual tension between them snap into nasty, competitive aggression. If he wanted it that way, Zoro'd put him in his place nice and quick.

Unfortunately for Zoro, his usually keen sense of direction failed him, and instead of finding something big to kill, he stumbled upon a smaller trail. And that small trail led him to cross paths with the cook himself.

And by 'cross paths' that meant 'very nearly run into'. Sanji jumped back instantly, gnashing his teeth in irritation. "Dumbass, what are you doing out here? You were supposed to go the other way! Not double around and follow me!"

"I didn't!" Zoro snarled back, a tense hand snapping to Wadou's hilt in an instinct apparently attached to internal rage. He kicked the tree he'd stumbled back into upon the cook's appearance and then found some sort of dignity in relaxing his posture. "Maybe you just followed the wrong path. You should be more careful."

"Listen here, you..." Sanji shoved both hands in his pockets, thrust his chin out stubbornly. "I left the ship in a straight line away from you. If you're running into me out here, it's not my fault."

"Whatever," Zoro growled back, resting his arm on the support of his katana. "The islands here are mysterious. You seen anything yet?"

Sanji took a step back, settled into a more relaxed pose with obvious effort. He shrugged and searched the canopy above with a casual sweep of eyes before lowering his gaze once more. "Just a few more of those weird lizard birds," he snorted. "Hardly a meal for the captain let along provisions for the rest of us."

"Hn." Now would have been the perfect opportunity to ask just what, exactly, was going on. To ask the cook what the hell his problem was and if he even remembered the crush of lips and frantic friction they'd shared the night before. He could have asked what the cook was so defensive about. Or, he could have just grabbed that slighter figure and picked up where they'd left off when they'd been interrupted, crush Sanji to a tree or shove him to his knees on the mossy jungle floor. He could come up with something headily sexually charged, shatter the discomfort between them and Sanji would be on him like Luffy on meat. Instead, what he said was, "Probably for the best anyway. Wouldn't want you to get hurt."

The cook bristled immediately and violently, crushing a small plant beneath one heavy heel. "Look here, DUMBASS. I'm perfectly capable of feeding this crew myself. I don't need your help or your condescension or anything else! So just... back off!"

Zoro's tanned features twisted in irritation; frustration of oh so many types boiled from his gut and heated its way through his bloodstream. "You're the one that challenged me to this little piss-off, asshole!" he snarled back, closing the yards between them as he encroached into Sanji's space bubble. The swordsman's brow was furrowed deep, green eyes sharp and nose very nearly touching Sanji's, daring him to back away. "So if you can't take the heat, get out of the galley."

For a moment, it looked as though Sanji would meet his challenge. The fire in his visible eye was certainly there. But a beat passed and the cook balked, took a step back. Zoro could see in his face that he knew they weren't just talking about hunting anymore. Still, he seemed determined not to be entirely derailed. ?Jackass!? he hissed, curled brow narrowing, lip curling like a cornered animal. "You're the one who got all high and mighty, practically daring me to prove that I'm as much a man as you!"

"You don't have to prove shit!" Zoro snapped with exasperation. He didn't know how to explain to Sanji why he'd said what he did -- mostly because in general, Zoro wasn't exactly a master with words and eloquence. But furthermore, to admit that he was just trying to get Sanji's attention and lighten the mood by teasing him would be far too revealing. Until now, Sanji hadn't taken his needling with such seriousness, so he certainly didn't expect the cook to go on some machismo rampage in response to an offhanded tease. "You're too fuckin' sensitive," the swordsman grumbled for lack of anything better to formulate.

Zoro had hardly a beat to duck the kick aimed for his head, and as the cook's foot breezed through his hair, he missed the other heel aimed for his hip. There wasn't enough power in the kick to maim; it was barely enough to knock Zoro to his knees. But the tension in the air was once again palpable as Sanji backed away and tucked his hands back into his pockets. "Maybe the problem here is your complete inability to read an atmosphere and know when to shut your mouth. Whatever. I've got a crew to feed. Do what you want."

The swordsman listened to the foliage hiss out of Sanji's way as he pushed on through the jungle. Funny how it managed to sound like a door slamming shut.


	5. Chapter 5

As it happened, with the exception of the unavoidable debate over whose kill was bigger, both men managed to, for the most part, avoid each other's company. Zoro and the girls nearly got themselves baked into a giant wax cake, Sanji had a cup of tea and an informative chat with one Mr. Zero, knocked out a few bad guys and saved the day by retrieving the log pose that would let them leave Little Garden.

When they were back on track, out on the open water, giant goldfish and giant goldfish poop behind them, life went more or less back to normal. Zoro went back to training, Sanji back to cooking and took up scowling out a porthole at the swordsman and his bleeding ankles-- Feet that he'd learned the idiot had tried to cut off to escape some waxy doom. Idiot. Stupid stubborn idiot. And without a doctor, they'd likely scar worse than that slash across his chest.

The more the swordsman pushed himself, the more often he tore his stitches, in spite of Nami's disgust and Vivi's horror. He was unable to wear boots but going barefoot didn't put him off of slinging his weights on deck. At least until he noticed blood dripping down his ankles and sighed in irritation. He tossed a towel around his neck and crossed the deck to the galley, leaving droplets of blood on the swabbed planks. He said nothing to Sanji as he made a bee-line to the chest that contained their medical supplies to rummage for rubbing alcohol and fresh thread.

"Having fun, moron?" The cook snorted, but didn't spare a further glance for the green-haired man. Wasn't any point, was there? He was determined to slowly bleed out till his ankles were an irreparable mess. And whose responsibility was it to stop him? Not Sanji's, that was certain. "You could at least ask Usopp to help you with that. He actually knows how to hold a needle and thread."

There was a throaty growl, barely heard with Zoro's back to the cook as he hunched over his legs. He'd never had quite such an inconvenient wound -- at least Mihawk's slash was easily accessible, not forcing him into a contorting act to get at it when new stitches were applied. "I know how to stitch a damn wound, kusoyaro," he replied. He set aside bloodied gauze and glared at his healing flesh, then grit his teeth with determination to not so much as hiss when he poured burning alcohol over the stubborn gash.

"Is that why they keep coming loose?" Sanji raised a brow and took a seat at the far end of Zoro's bench, settling in to watch. He wasn't, of course, going to actually _offer_ to help. "You've put the stitches too far apart. That might work for a wound on a less mobile part of your body, but around your ankle, it's hardly better than doing nothing."

Irritation ticked in Zoro's forehead, though he refused to look up even as he felt the cook's eyes on him, all condescending criticism. "Who made you ship's doctor? Last time I checked, you specialized in dicing things up, not putting them back together."

"Every sailor worth his salt learns basic first aid," Sanji pointed out. "We didn't have a doctor on the Baratie, either." Why was he bothering to argue this point? It wasn't as though the swordsman's health was of his concern. Then again, he was walking around dripping blood onto the floor of _Sanji's_ galley... and that was liable to upset the girls. Well, he could make Zoro's wellbeing his business if he had to.

Either there wasn't much argument that Zoro could give or he wasn't interested in wasting the breath, judging from the silence that fell as he mopped at the wound until it was no longer dripping with antiseptic. From what Sanji knew of Zoro's past, mostly from Luffy's ramblings at the kitchen table while he cooked dinner, the swordsman wasn't particularly proficient at much outside of wielding a blade. According to their captain's retelling, he'd come across his first crew member, starving to death in the yard of a Marine base after getting horribly lost in his quest to become a great bushido. It wasn't all that surprising that the fine art of medicine wasn't up his alley. Still hunched over his ankle, the swordsman scowled deeply as he attempted to thread a needle. Maybe it was only Sanji's presence driving him into further irritation but that scowl deepened with each failed attempt -- three now.

In retrospect, the quiet chiding chuckle had been unnecessary, but at the time, the cook couldn't quite help himself. "It's amazing you've lived as long as you have. Here, give it to me. My fingers aren't so bulky."

When Zoro looked up from his work, shoulders hunched and face pursed so much it could only be called a pout in spite of whatever protest the word might illicit. The image took years off the intense swordsman's appearance. For a moment he just looked at the cook with clear suspicion but finally consented to thrust the needle and thread at him wordlessly.

Sanji resisted the urge to laugh again and he even managed to avoid rolling his eyes as he took the proffered objects. Threading the needle was a simple matter of wetting the end of the thread, holding both close and then it was done. He bit the thread loose from the spool and tied it off before holding it up. "There. No problem."

"Nngh," Zoro muttered and it might have been translated to a 'thank you' if one squinted just so and turned their head a little to the right. With the ruined stitches clipped away, he took the needle back and set to the task of sewing the wound back up. He placed the laces maybe just a little bit closer together, though no less lopsided and sloppy. "S'pose you've stitched up plenty of cuts from kitchen knives."

"Mm," Sanji answered, an affirmative if one was listening closely. "When I was a kid." He really aught to have been getting back to dinner preparations, but something kept his eyes trained on Zoro's hands, his mouth set in a contemplative frown.

Zoro said nothing more and the silence quickly grew thick and uncomfortable. The longest they'd spent in each other's company since... that night... was their brief spat in the jungle. For the first few weeks of the voyage, there'd been hours that Zoro would nap or drink at the table while Sanji worked or would be drafted into washing vegetables or drying dishes. Always there was a sense of mutual respect that had blossomed after that first row with Arlong, having seen one another's stamina and determination, having had each other's backs even barely knowing one another. Both horrified and impressed with the damage that the other took and that he endured through the pain. There had been warm understanding between them, if peppered with some good-natured competition and teasing.

But what had formed so quickly, just as quickly had cooled and the hours of quiet, smoky camaraderie seemed like they'd been years ago, not days.

And perhaps with two different people, they might have acknowledged what had happened, admitted there were things that perhaps they aught to talk about. But there was an unspoken and unpleasant understanding that neither would be the one to speak it, be the first to acknowledge what had happened and what it had become. So that left only continuing as they were.

"Have you ever thought about, oh, I don't know, giving your wounds more than an hour or two to heal before you tear them open again?" There was safety in irritation, in accusation and judgment.

"Have you ever thought about minding your own damn business?" Zoro retorted, irritation clashing irritation like two blades. If any trace of concern were detectable in Sanji's voice, it was drowned out in Zoro's defensiveness. "Not all of us have the luxury of standing at the sink all day puffing cigarettes." The moment the words slipped free of Zoro's teeth, his jaw snapped shut with the realization that he'd gone too far -- and the stubbornness that promised he wouldn't take the statement back.

Sanji's eyes flashed darkly for a moment, then he stood, his back to the swordsman. "When I 'stand at the sink' all day, I'm looking out for everyone on this ship. Doing my job. Taking care of them. When you train to the point of bleeding all over the deck, you're not doing _anyone_ any favors. Not even yourself." Sanji turned then, leaned against the counter he now stood before. "Get out. I've got dinner to prepare."

He felt Zoro linger for a moment, felt the swordsman's resentful eyes on his back though the other man said nothing. Sanji heard the galley door open and shut again and never glanced over his shoulder. He turned his attention back to his cooking then, busy enough that he was easily distracted from giving Zoro the satisfaction of catching his eyes through a porthole. When he did finally spare a look outside, he found that the swordsman had returned to his place on the bow but his weights rested idly nearby. Instead of flexing, his freshly scarred ankles were crossed as he meditated with his back to the railing.


End file.
